I'm With You
by Rose DiVerona
Summary: Joanne is sick of Maureen cheating on her, so she kicks the diva out. When she meets up with a certain geeky filmmaker, could friendship turn into something more? Mark/Joanne.
1. Over It

A/N: I began typing this yesterday as a oneshot, but I decided it will expand into a two- or three-shot, when I have time to submit more.

Basis: I love MoJo, but I also think it has a large share of problems. With the second part of this fic, I hope to do a convincing Mark/Joanne ship. I've seen several, and I really think they work when well-written. Hey, if someone can write a convincing Mark/Alison fic, then surely there's something there connecting Mark and Joanne! OTHER than Maureen. Right?

Warning: This is NOT A MoJo, and while it hopefully will be enjoyable for Joanne lovers, those who favor Maureen may not find what they desire.

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT.

* * *

**Over It**

Joanne Marie Jefferson was having a bad day. It wasn't the first she'd experienced in her twenty-seven years, nor was she naive enough to think it might be the last, but it was the worst she could remember having in a long time.

Joanne sighed and stretched her legs out on the deep, forest-green couch, kicking her heels off and digging her bare feet into the velvet upholstery. For once, she was glad she had let Maureen convinced her to buy a softer, comfy couch instead of a stiff model.

Maureen. The name bit into Joanne's conscious mind, and she angrily yanked her golden hairband out of her curly locks, flinging it onto the floor. The band had been a gift from Maureen – a token of "love." Joanne snorted. More like a token of false security.

She ought to have known better. Maureen's commitment issues were infamous. But somehow, Joanne couldn't seem to stay away. Well, not anymore. She was done dealing with all the drama that came with the diva. Through waiting up late some nights – _most_ nights – wondering if Maureen was coming home. Through with the jealousy, sick of the flirting, and over the broken promises. No more.

Joanne sat up, nails clutching the seat cushion, and glared at the opposite wall. Her upset was replaced by anger, and she stood up sharply and stalked into the bedroom she and Maureen shared. The room was neat, but only because Joanne made it so herself. Maureen was content to strew her belongings throughout the apartment as if she, not her girlfriend, paid the rent. The agitated lawyer marched directly to the closet and pulled down a couple cardboard boxes labeled in magic marker: Maureen's Stuff.

She snatched up one of Maureen's bras from the floor, tossing it into a box and blinking angry tears from her eyes. Now wasn't the time – Maureen might come home any minute, and Joanne didn't want her to take crying as a sign of weakness. Maureen's bright pink iPod sat on the nightstand, and almost without thinking, Joanne stuck the earbuds in her ears and turned the device on. Usually she hated Maureen's heavy rock music, but right now it was exactly what she needed to drown out her thoughts as she continued "packing" for her girlfriend.

Each time she passed the oak dresser, a framed picture of herself and Maureen taken last spring smiled out at her. They had been happy then. Now it took every bit of Joanne's self-control to keep from throwing the picture in frustration.

A loud crash from the living room broke Joanne out of her frenzy, and she tore the iPod from her ears, tossing it onto the bed just as Maureen waltzed into the bedroom.

"Hey, Pookie, sorry about the lamp out there-" Maureen began, but broke off when she saw the boxes. "Pookie? What's going on?"

Joanne slowly looked up, fixing Maureen with a glare. "I want you _out_, Maureen."

Maureen's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. "…what?"

"You heard me. I'm done. This has gone on for too long, and I'm kicking you out."

Maureen laughed nervously – even though the relationship was off and on, the diva's boxes had never made their way off the top shelf. She had always escaped to the Loft with nothing but the clothes on her back until the fight blew over. And she had never seen Joanne quite this crazed before.

"Pookie-"

"_Don't 'Pookie' me_!" Joanne shrieked, losing her self control and dropping the box she was clutching. "We are _through_! Do you hear me? There is no longer an 'us,' and I am most definitely _not _your Pookie!" She turned to hide her tear-streaked face, then spun around and stabbed a finger at Maureen. "How could you? I thought you were over this immature phase, but I was obviously wrong. And I can't deal with this anymore. I want a _life_, Maureen! A life where I know the person I love will be there when they say they will, and not out _screwing _some other person!" She laughed bitterly. "Did you really think we could go on forever like this? You think I don't know how many times this has happened? Well, you were wrong. This is what I think of you and me." And she seized the photo of the couple from the dresser and threw it onto the floor, getting a strange feeling of satisfaction from the shattering glass. "Get out, and don't come back. I mean it." She caught only a glimpse of Maureen's terrified and upset face before she stumbled into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.

Even then she held back the flood of tears, though her heavy breathing prevented her from hearing what was going on in the rest of the apartment. It felt like forever later, though it might have been only a few minutes, when the lawyer opened the door a crack and saw that Maureen and the boxes were gone. Hesitantly, she uncurled herself from her position on the tiles and stood shakily, heading into the bedroom. The broken frame from before still lay where it had fallen, but the glass had been scooped into a pile of shards, and the photo was gone. _Maureen_ was gone.

And Joanne collapsed in a heap on the bed and let herself sob.

* * *

A/N: I really like writing Joanne. I feel like there is a lot of her in me, but there's also a large helping of Maureen there. If we all try hard enough, I'm sure we could each find something of everyone in RENT. But I'm rambling, so review, and I'll post the second part that much quicker.


	2. You Yearn

A/N: Well, I'm not sure this chapter turned out the way I wanted it to, but I can't seem to figure out a way to make it cooperate. So if you have suggestions at the end, I will be happy to consider them. I don't know if this will remain a three-shot at this point, but I really don't need another long story, so I'm going to try my best to keep it to maybe four.

* * *

**You Yearn**

_I need to get out_, Joanne thought vaguely, realizing she was letting herself fall into a state of depression. After the tears had gone, the lawyer had changed into sweats, retrieved a tub of ice cream from the freezer, and taken up residence on the couch, where the TV seemed content to blare soap operas at her until she finally snapped back to reality.

_This isn't me._ _I've never wallowed in self-pity before, and I don't intend to start now. _She straightened, taking a deep cleansing breath. She felt her sorrow slipping away, letting the anger back in. That was okay. Joanne could deal with anger.

_I need to get drunk._

Before she quite knew what she was doing, the phone was in her hand and it was ringing.

"_Hello?"_

"Mark." She sighed in relief. "Wanna get drunk?"

--

The bar was low-key. There wasn't anything to distinguish it from the hundreds of others in the city, and it wasn't particularly close to either apartment. That was good. Joanne didn't want to risk running into Maureen.

Mark was already outside, waiting. He looked ridiculously innocent in the environment – pale, scrawny, his glasses prominent on his nose. But Joanne felt a rush of affection towards her friend – for coming, for understanding how she felt, for being _him_. Sweet, honorable Mark was about the only guy she would have felt safe being drunk with in this part of town. Hence why she wanted him, and no one else, to be her companion tonight.

"Jo," Mark breathed as she approached. He looked relieved to see her.

She hugged him lightly and smiled. "Thanks for coming. I'm actually a little surprised…"

"That I came so willingly?"

There was definitely a story behind that. Joanne arched an eyebrow. Mark sighed and gestured to the door.

"I'll tell you inside."

Joanne found a tiny booth in the corner beside a grimy window while Mark braved the crush of bodies at the counter to get a couple beers. He joined her moments later, carrying two mugs of some dark substance Joanne didn't recognize. She took a sip and winced at the strength of the drink.

"I can get you something else if-" Mark began anxiously, but she shook her head violently and swallowed.

"It's fine. I just haven't done this in a while. Now, I believe you owe me an explanation."

"You first. I have a feeling we'll run into my story eventually."

"Okay…" And she launched into a detailed explanation of everything that had happened earlier in the day; Maureen cheating, coming home, and then leaving. Mark listened patiently, and when she had finished, he nodded and took a long swig of his beer before speaking.

"Well, here's where I come in. This afternoon, most likely right after you broke up with her, Maureen came charging into the Loft in a state. She was yelling about how you broke up with her, how it wasn't fair, and a bunch of other crap like that. So naturally she had decided to come 'home', to live with Roger, Mimi, and I." He sighed. "Well, it isn't the first time she's done that, and I offered her the spare room, Collins' old room, as usual. But Roger…he thought it was funny, thought I'd appreciate it…he said, 'Why doesn't she just move back in to your room, Mark?' And it wasn't funny. It hurt, because-"

"Everyone assumes you're the fall-back guy," Joanne broke in sympathetically.

"Yeah. That's about when you called. So I was more than willing to meet you here. I've really been trying to get over Maureen, and I definitely know how it feels when she cheats on you. We're both in the same boat, in a way."

Thoughtful silence fell over the pair, blanketing the ruckus of the bar around them.

Joanne clinked her fingernails on her glass, letting out a groan of annoyance. "Sometimes I feel like I'm a fly, and Maureen's the web I keep getting caught in. Just when I think I've gotten away…"

"She keeps you dangling?" Mark's eyes sparkled.

Joanne had to smile. "My heart she is mangling." She agreed.

They shared a knowing smile.

"Well, I'm glad I came," Mark said, reaching across the table and laying his hand over Joanne's. The latter felt an unexpected pleasant prickling on the back of her neck, but forced it to the back of her mind.

_No. It can't be._

"Me…me too. Thanks."

Another pause, though not an awkward one. Mark withdrew his hand and sipped his drink.

Joanne leaned forward. "…So, as long as we're nagging on about Maureen, you might as well tell me how the two of you met. I've never been able to get the story out of her."

Mark considered for a moment. "Well, it all began when…"

Joanne only half-listened as her friend went on – she was more interested in examining him. Having never been in a one-on-one situation with the blonde before, save the day they met, she'd never really had much opportunity to think about Mark.

He was a good person. It seemed an obvious and relatively childish thing to say, but it was true. He had never gotten into drugs, and apparently always been cautious in his sex life, as he had escaped the AIDS that had gotten to his closest friends. He was always there if you had a problem, solemn and ready to listen, and yet he also the ability to outwit even Roger when the need arose. Of course he had his flaws. He often used his camera to hide from his own reality – willing to confront other's problems, but reluctant to admit his own. But everyone had problems, and Mark at least worked on his. Unlike – a bitter taste pervaded Joanne's mouth – Maureen.

He was also handsome, in his own way. Yes, he was small, but he wasn't that scrawny after all, as Joanne had discovered when she hugged him. He had pretty eyes, if you got close enough to see past the glasses. His hair was a nice color, and Joanne imagined it would be soft to the touch. In fact…thinking about Mark gave Joanne the kind of feeling she hadn't had in a long time. And it both frightened and exhilarated her.

_You're a lesbian! _Part of her mind berated. _You like girls! Not guys!_

The other half retaliated, _Maybe you've just never met the right kind of guy before. Remember that one time you thought you liked a client? A _guy _client? You could be bi…and Mark's so handsome and sweet…_

"Uh…Joanne…?"

Joanne's eyes snapped open. She hadn't even realized she had shut them, and was mortified to realize she was reaching across the table, fingers inches from Mark's reddish-blonde locks.

She surged backward across the table, knocking her beer over in the process and yelping in surprise as some of it splashed onto her sandaled feet. Both she and Mark sprang into motion at once, grabbing napkins off the table and pressing them on the spill. They crouched down to mop up the floor (and Joanne's feet).

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Joanne squeaked, feeling her face flush and tears building. Now what would Mark think of her?

"Joanne."

His calm voice startled her into glancing up. His face was just inches from hers, and there was no disgust or anger on it. Only a slight smile. He took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"What?"

"It's okay," he said gently. "I promise. No harm, no foul. I didn't even get any on me. Hey, why don't we ditch this place? Go get dinner somewhere? I don't feel like getting drunk after all.'

Joanne didn't trust herself to speak. She nodded shyly.

_Say something, idiot! Come on! What is wrong with you?_

"Soft," she blurted. _Great…_

He turned to her in confusion.

"Hm?"

And without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn't a long kiss, or a passionate one. But she sprang back almost instantly, her horrified eyes as wide as his surprised as she stuttered for an excuse.

"Oh…Mark…I'm sorry, I-I've got to go!" And she seized her purse and escaped into the cool night air.

* * *

A/N: Well...?


	3. Rebound

A/N: Sorry for the delay in updates! I am MAJORLY busy with school right now (I really shouldn't even be writing as we speak...). So don't expect any more updates for at least a week and a half. I think one more chapter after this.

Notes for this chapter: Joanne/Mimi FRIENDSHIP only. And I know DVDs and 'The Devil Wears Prada' weren't out back when RENT took place...I used creative license, as with the iPod in the first chapter.

* * *

**Rebound**

Joanne slumped dejectedly in her favorite armchair, staring at, but not really seeing, the rain spattering against the window before her.

_What happened?_ she asked herself, remembering the events of earlier in the evening. _Why did I do that?_

Her brain and heart were only too willing to provide answers. They weren't the ones she wanted to hear, yet Joanne's stubborn side was already faltering under the undeniable truth.

She was in love with – or at least had romantic feelings for – Mark Cohen.

Mark, the sometimes overeager, rarely subdued 'Spike Lee' of the gang. The man who occasionally came off as bitter, because he knew that someday he would be forced to watch his friends die, one by one. The one who always broke up the arguments, or at least tried, and sometimes got hurt in the process. Who understood how Joanne felt – her closest confidante in the group.

The man who loved Maureen Johnson.

Because whatever he said, he still loved her. Joanne knew he had to, because she still loved Maureen, and somehow knew she always would. How could love for two people spring out of mutual attraction to a third person? It didn't seem possible, but for Joanne it was true. She'd been so busy dancing the tango, she'd forgotten to listen for the bells.

Well, everything was ruined now. Joanne would rather have been Mark's friend than nothing at all, but it was probably too late. The awkwardness would linger. With a jolt, Joanne realized that without Mark or Maureen, she really didn't have anything connecting her to the group. Despite the time they'd all spent together, she had never taken the time to get to know the others well.

Regret and confusion were just beginning to sink in when a knock on the door startled Joanne out of her daze. She stood, tightening her bathrobe around her body.

"Who's there?" she called. If the doorman had let whoever it was up without buzzing her, it had to be someone she knew. But you could never be too careful in the city.

"It's Mimi!" came the muffled reply.

"Mimi?" Joanne hurried to the door, slid back the bolt, and pulled it open.

The dancer stood before her, dripping wet all over the hallway. In one hand she clutched a duffel, and the other was holding her leopard print coat closed. She was shivering, and managed a sheepish smile.

"Are you all right?" Joanne asked anxiously, ushering her friend inside. "You're soaked!"

"It's coming down pretty hard out there," Mimi shrugged, setting her bag down and glancing around the apartment.

"What happened? You didn't – have a fight with Roger, did you?"

Mimi shook her head, water droplets flying from her hair. "No. I came over for a sleepover."

"A – a what?"

The word was surprising. Joanne didn't think she'd had a "sleepover" since high school.

"A sleepover," Mimi nodded. "Roger knows where I am, but he thinks you picked me up, or he never would have let me out in this rain. HIV," she explained unnecessarily. As if she was just realizing how sudden her appearance had been, she shuffled her feet. "I mean, if you don't mind…"

"No," Joanne said quickly, finding she meant it. Here was her chance to start forming bonds with the others. And even though she was pretty sure she knew why Mimi was really here – the dancer did live with Mark, too, after all – the thought of not having to face a night alone was comforting.

"Good. I brought some dry clothes," Mimi held up the bag. "Um…the bathroom is that way, right?" The Bohemians had been to Joanne's apartment only once before.

Joanne nodded. "Second door on the left. I'll make some tea while you change."

A few minutes later, the two congregated in the living room, Joanne comfortably seated on the couch while Mimi curled up in an armchair.

"I love your place," Mimi said, sipping her tea and looking around.

"Thanks. I love your pants," Joanne teased. Mimi had changed into a tank top and a pair of plaid pants of Roger's.

"Do they make me look fat?" Mimi wondered, examining her waistline.

"Um…no?"

"Good."

There was a pause, and then Mimi sprang up excitedly.

"I know! We should make popcorn and watch a movie!" She froze. "You do have popcorn, right?"

Joanne nodded bemusedly. "Of course. What movie did you have in mind?"

Mimi dove for her bag and rifled through it, finally pulling out a DVD and turning with a triumphant grin.

"Have you ever seen 'The Devil Wears Prada'?

"No…"

Mimi squealed. "Well, you're gonna love it! It's one of the best movies ever!"

--

As the movie progressed, Joanne found herself only halfway paying attention. It wasn't that it was a bad film, but her thoughts kept wandering to Mark. She kept expecting Mimi to make some comment about the situation, but the other seemed engrossed in the action onscreen.

"You know, I never noticed how much Lily looks like you!" Mimi cocked her head to the side.

Joanne wrinkled her nose. "We don't look anything alike!" she protested, critically eyeing the woman in question.

"Do!" Mimi insisted.

"Do not!" Joanne whined despite herself.

Mimi grinned.

--

When the movie ended, Joanne didn't have time to ask what they should do next before Mimi had a display of lotion, nail polish, and newspapers set up on the carpet between them.

"Now I'm going to do your nails while you talk, and then we'll switch," she instructed, dabbing some lotion on her palms and massaging Joanne's foot.

Joanne hesitated. "I don't know what to talk about. You start," she insisted, leaning back and closing her eyes. Mimi's touch resembled Maureen's, but instead of making her miss the diva, the feeling comforted her in its familiarity.

Mimi waited for only a second before plunging into the tale of her young life. She was surprisingly good at storytelling, and Joanne found herself laughing along with Mimi at the funny stories the dancer told. All thoughts of Mark and Maureen fled her mind, leaving space only for the girly-girl deep within that Mimi was bringing out.

When Mimi appeared to be slowing down, Joanne seamlessly took control of the polish and conversation.

"…so I told him, 'Jared, I can't go to the dance with you. Why? To be honest…I like girls.'"

Both faces were red with laughter at the story of Joanne's "coming-out."

Mimi shook with suppressed giggles. "What did he do?" she choked.

Joanne snorted and snickered. "He – he – his eyes got really big, and then he turned and ran!"

They collapsed in hopeless bouts of laughter. Finally, Mimi hiccupped herself back into a semi-serious state.

"So..." she said, eyeing Joanne carefully, "…Mark."

Joanne's chuckles trailed off and she sat up slowly. She'd been expecting this, sudden as it was. She thought she'd feel defensive, but she didn't. The regret was gone, too – she had come to terms with what had happened. But the confusion seeped slowly in.

"Mark," she repeated, sighing.

Mimi scooted closer. "You wanna know what he said when he came home from the bar?"

Joanne nodded, her heart racing.

Mimi grinned. "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but he told us that a beautiful woman who looked just like Joanne Jefferson kissed him…and he liked it."

Joanne's breath caught in her throat. "Wha…" she breathed.

"He said it couldn't really have been you, because you like girls, not guys. And that the whole thing was too good to be true."

"You're just playing with me," Joanne whispered.

"I swear that I'm not. I wouldn't do that to either of you," Mimi said matter-of-factly. She pointed her finger accusingly at Joanne. "You like Mark Cohen. And I do believe he likes you back."

Joanne scrambled to retain her defenses. "But – but he's right! I do like girls!"

Mimi groaned. "Are you by any chance acquainted with a certain lady named Maureen Johnson?" she said pointedly. "It is possible to be attracted to both."

Joanne was silent. "I never would have thought…" she murmured.

"Me neither," Mimi admitted. "But I see the look on your face now, and I saw the look on his face then. And I know that look. Now, if you want my advice – tell him how you feel. He described the situation, and I'm sure it's awkward, but if you admit your feelings and I'm wrong about him – which I'm not – at least it'll be out in the open. Or you could just mention the kiss and see how he reacts for yourself. You are a smart woman, Joanne. You can do this."

"I could – I could try…" Joanne said doubtfully, but warming up to the idea. "When?" she asked eagerly.

"No day but today," Mimi replied, glancing over at the microwave clock, "and it's past midnight. I would say around…noon? I'll get Maureen out of the way for you."

"You mean you won't be there?" Joanne yelped.

"Ooh, I never knew you needed me so badly!" Mimi joked.

Joanne blushed. "Well…well…fine. I can do it." She shifted awkwardly. "Thanks...for tonight, Mimi. I never knew how badly I needed something like this until now."

Mimi beamed. "What are friends for?"

And that was it. Joanne couldn't believe how easy it was to come to a decision when her thoughts had been elsewhere for awhile. But she felt instantly better.

Mimi prodded her on the shoulder. "The night isn't over yet! Do you have any ice cream? I brought some magazines to look through!"

A/N: Sorry for any OOC-ness. I wanted some girl time to loosen the atmosphere and provide insight into Joanne's relationship with another character. Review?


	4. Trusting Desire

A/N: Eek, it's been almost a month! Sorry! But it's not entirely my fault. The computers at my school are completely out of whack, so I kept losing whatever I typed there, and I couldn't e-mail it to myself to finish at home because the internet's down, too. But I finally got this, the LAST CHAPTER up. Phew...Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Trusting Desire**

The next morning, Joanne felt someone shaking her awake.

"Joanne!"

"Mm…five more minutes…"

"No more minutes!" The blanket was pulled off, and the lawyer sat up suddenly in the cold. A fully-dressed Mimi crouched in front of her.

Joanne yawned. "It's Saturday, Mimi. Wanna sleep in." She groped for the blanket, but Mimi stood and bundled it in her arms.

"It's ten o'clock, silly. You're going to the Loft in two hours! Time to get up."

Grumbling, Joanne stood up from the patch of floor she had fallen asleep on and groaned as her muscles creaked in protest.

"That's it. Up and at 'em!" Mimi chirped cheerfully. "I made some breakfast."

Joanne froze as a memory came into her head.

"_Pookie, I made you breakfast!" Maureen had batter smeared across her face, but her grin was huge as she proudly served Joanne burnt pancakes._

"_Looks great," Joanne pecked her girlfriend on the cheek._

"Joanne?"

Joanne shook the memory away. Mimi was standing a few feet ahead, her arm extended to show a plate of French toast and fruit.

"Looks great," the lawyer croaked, sitting.

"Are you okay?" Mimi questioned, sliding into a chair next to her.

Joanne took a bite and chewed slowly, swallowing before replying.

"I keep remembering _her_," she confessed. "Everywhere I turn, there's another memory. I thought I was over it, but…"

Mimi smiled. "You two have quite a history. It'll take a while to truly let her go. I'm sure you miss her…but sometimes it's just fate to move on."

"You should be a love guru," Joanne said wryly. But she felt better.

After breakfast was over, Mimi announced that she was leaving.

"I'm off to kidnap Maureen!" she joked. "You take a shower, get dressed in something casual, and get your butt over to the Loft. Roger and Collins will be expecting you, but if I have my way, Mark won't be. Just remember to be yourself. Don't be embarrassed, and good luck!" She swept her bag onto her shoulder and departed.

Joanne gulped and put her dishes in the sink. Then she took a long, hot shower to ease her nerves. After getting out, she carefully dried her hair and went hunting for an outfit, eventually deciding on a cream-colored rib-knit sweater with jeans and brown leather clogs, and a brown jacket. The same outfit, she realized, she had worn during Maureen's protest that fateful Christmas Eve. This almost made her decide against it…but that was also the day she met Mark. The outfit went on.

After applying makeup and a last-minute scrutiny in the hall mirror, she found herself in her car, driving towards the Loft.

_What I did for love, _she thought dryly, recalling the song from _A Chorus Line _as she reviewed her unusually long preparation process of the morning. The last time she had worried so much about how she looked was the day-

Joanne clenched the steering wheel. She wouldn't let her thoughts stray that direction, not now. She was moving on, taking the next step.

Mark's apartment building came into view, and Joanne took a deep breath as she squeezed her car against the curb and climbed out, locking the doors. Taking long strides to calm herself, she reached for the door – only to remember that she would need to call up for the key.

She prayed that it would not be Mark who came (What would she _say_?), and shouted, "Guys! It's Joanne! I need the key!"

A brief pause; then Roger stuck his grinning head out the window.

"Why, _Joanne_, fancy seeing you here on this beautiful day!"

Joanne rolled her eyes. "Roger, don't give me that. Just toss me the keys."

"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "I think you're going to have to tell me the password first."

"Roger, we don't _have _a password."

"Sure we do. All you have to do is yell, at the top of your lungs, 'I love Ma-" A hand reached out from the apartment and yanked the musician inside before he could finish his sentence.

Collins appeared where Roger had stood previously and tossed the keys down to Joanne.

"Come on up."

Joanne smiled gratefully as she unlocked the door and headed up the stairs, laughing affectionately at Roger's antics. She was comforted by how familiar he acted towards her.

She slid the Loft door open. They were waiting for her. Collins had a firm grip on Roger's arm, his bag slung over the opposite shoulder. Roger had a death grip on his guitar case, and he was still grinning cheekily.

"Mark and Joanne, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-ow!"

Collins retracted his hand from where he'd slapped Roger's arm and rolled his eyes.

"I don't know what's wrong with this one today," he indicated the younger man, "but he's off his rocker. No pun intended. I'm taking him out for a while so he won't bother you."

"Thanks," Joanne grinned.

"I'm not sure if Mark knows you're here or not. He's in his room, working on some film or other, so he's probably too immersed to notice much at the moment." The philosopher hesitated. "Look, I know this whole situation must be weird for you. But I want to let you know I haven't seen Mark that flushed since he and you-know-who were going out. And Mark rarely gets embarrassed." Joanne remembered how the filmmaker had, without a hint of shame, danced on the tables at the Life that Christmas and mentally agreed.

"He's right, you know," Roger nodded, suddenly serious. "Either way, I hope both of you find what you're looking for."

The pair left, leaving Joanne alone in the living room, contemplating how best to interrupt Mark from his work. As it turned out, she didn't have to. No sooner had the door shut behind Collins and Roger than Mark appeared in the room, mumbling something about 'crappy footage.' He didn't even seem to notice Joanne until she cleared her throat.

"Oh…hi," he managed, smiling timidly.

Joanne smiled weakly. "If this is a bad time…"

"No, no, sit down," Mark urged quickly. "Um…do you want a Coke?"

"Sure," Joanne shrugged, not because she had any particular fondness for the drink but because it would provide something to hold.

Mark crossed to the kitchenette and retrieved two cans from the fridge, passing one to the lawyer and popping the tab on his own. Joanne perched awkwardly on the couch and opened her can while Mark settled in the nearest armchair.

"So…" he began.

Joanne took a breath and began. "First of all, I just want to apologize for last night. I usually don't act like that, and I don't want you to think I'm fast or anything. I shouldn't have done it, and I really hope we can forget it happened and start over. I was so embarrassed that I just ran out, but don't worry, I'll pay you back for my drink. I can't say I'm sorry, because I'm not, exactly, because…well…never mind. Then Mimi came over later and told me what you said, and I thought that maybe there was a chance, but now that I'm here I see it was stupid of me to come, because you're my ex's ex, and how weird is that? And then there's-"

"Joanne!" Mark said loudly, and for the second time in as many days, his voice stopped her spew.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I was rambling…I do that when I get nervous."

"I can tell," Mark said, smiling wryly.

She looked away from his piercing eyes and took a long sip of Coke. "I feel really stupid," she confessed.

"Why?"

"I-I don't know…" she sighed and turned toward him. "If I tell you the truth, will you promise not to laugh or run away?"

"I promise," Mark said solemnly.

"Okay…" she took a deep breath, staring intently at her hands. "I've never liked guys, only girls. And that's never bothered me, and I never thought- well, I never expected anything to change. But last night, with you, something _did_. I can't explain it, because it doesn't make any sense to me, either. But I can tell you the truth, take it or leave it; I like you. I always have, as a friend, but now it's more than that. Last night…I felt things, things I've never felt toward a guy before. And it scares me. I find myself wondering what I should do, and that's never happened before – I've always told _other _people what _they _should do. But for whatever reason, something inside me has changed. I'll understand if this upsets you, and it doesn't change how awkward the situation is. I'm terrified of being rejected, but I know it's eminent, and you're the one person I can't – _won't _– chase after. Because you're different. I mean, you're my ex-girlfriend's ex-boyfriend! And I'm supposed to be a lesbian. Only now…I'm not. So I'm sorry about what happened. But I needed to get it out – that I really like you – so I could stop wondering how you would react. I'm sorry." She fell silent, waiting for the axe to drop.

"I'm not."

The whisper was so hushed Joanne wasn't sure she'd even heard it.

"Excuse me?" She looked up. Mark's unwavering gaze was fixed on her.

"I'm not sorry. About last night, I mean."

Joanne mouthed words, but nothing came out. "Really?" she finally asked, her voice small and unsure, waiting for the catch.

"Really." He stood and slipped onto the couch next to her. "Because I felt something, too. Have felt it longer than you have." He sighed, gazing into space. "Do you remember when we first met?"

"Of course!" she nodded vigorously. _How could I forget?_

"Well, then you were only Joanne Jefferson, girlfriend-stealer – with a mad tango ability, I might add." He chuckled. "But I kept watching you, subconsciously. It's what I do. I wanted to see what Maureen saw in you. And I found it pretty quickly." Now it was his turn to look at his hands. "Not only were you gorgeous, but you were…fun. Not in the loose, wild way that Maureen and Collins are. Nor in the undeniably youthful way Mimi is. In your own way. You managed to drive Maureen nuts, which gave you points in my mind as I could never do the same when I was with her, but you also held a balance. When I was with Maureen, I practically licked her shoes. I worshipped her. But you didn't bow at her feet. Didn't bow at all. You held your ground, part of the reason Maureen loves you so much, I think. You may not have noticed it, but everyone in the group has accepted you as one of us. We aren't used to association with people from your side of town, except for Benny, but you aren't like those other people. You actually like being with us – unless every observation I've ever made is wrong. But I digress." He shifted and licked his lips. "Anyway, I saw all this in you, and yet I still didn't like you as more than a friend, not then. We grew closer, but our relationship has always been rooted in Maureen. I suppose the change happened slowly, over time. I began to notice different things about you – your eyes, the way you moved, your laugh. I never allowed myself to elaborate on those feelings because I knew full well you were a lesbian, and you were Maureen's. I would never steal another person's lover. Those feelings have heightened with time. Another reason I guess I was so willing to meet you at the bar last night."

"So what you're saying is…" Joanne caught her breath.

He turned to her and took her hand. "I like you, too. This much." And he leaned forward and kissed her. She responded without thinking about it, letting herself give in until he pulled back to see her reaction.

"Don't stop," she pleaded.

He smiled, and this time she came forward to meet him. He fell backward onto the couch and she kept kissing him. Only after his glasses had fogged up did she back off with sudden reserve.

He pulled himself into a sitting position. "Joanne…"

"Too fast," she nodded, breathing heavily. She smiled. "After all, yesterday I was a lesbian."

He returned the grin. "Yeah."

"So…are we a thing?"

Mark smirked. "Would you like to be, or were you just kissing me in a sudden bout of passionate sexuality?"

She laughed boldly, finding, to her surprise, that she wasn't a bit embarrassed.

"I'd like to be," she said, "but Maureen…"

"What about her?" Mark asked, his face falling somewhat.

Quickly, Joanne pecked him on the cheek. "It isn't that. What will she think?"

"I think she'll be okay," Mark decided. "You know Maureen. Diva one minute, loving the next. She'll probably hate us for a few days, then decide we're the cutest couple she's ever seen."

Joanne had to agree.

"Would you like to go out for lunch?" Mark asked suddenly. "You know, I still owe you a meal!"

"That you do," Joanne concurred. "I would love to."

It felt right, she mused as he went to get his coat. Earlier, she'd been so confused about her feelings, her longings. Now that it had all come out better than she could have dreamed, she felt oddly at peace. She had a – a _boy_friend. New. But new was good. It was all happening so quickly.

"You ready?" Mark asked, re-entering the room.

"Yeah!" She stood up, taking his hand. "I'm with you."

* * *

A/N: I sort of went nuts on Roger, huh? But I sorted him out in the end. Couldn't resist. Can you blame him for laughing at his best friend's plight? It seemed like a good-mood Roger thing to do. And this was not an angst fic.

Thanks for reading! You know what to do!


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